The journal
by SoCherryDarling
Summary: there have always been hunters, and often, there has always been a fate mapped out for them. The journal of this hunter tells the story of someone who's path is the trickiest.
1. June 1626- May 1627

June 5th 1626

Today I received troubling news from my dear brother, who set sail for the new world some two years past.

It has taken many months for this letter to come into my position, him having sent it some time in March.

_We were wrong. The devils came with us and there are more besides. This country has it's own imps and demons and it is not the safe land we had hoped._

I can't convey how much this torments me.

I feel now my life here is done.

I will sail to the new world and meet with my brother.

* * *

July 20th 1626

I was lucky to find passage with a cargo vessel, mostly cloth and grain, but a few other passengers.

When darkness fell I did a sweep of the ship, laying salt where I could, checking boxes for vampires, but was pleased to find nothing to alarm me.

I may, in fact, sleep more soundly upon this vessel than I ever have.

* * *

July 24th 1626

I find myself itching to be off this ship and it is only four days!

I pray I may find the patience to continue, but this voyage is very tiresome. Perhaps my father was right when he said that you cannot leave the life any more than you can chose it. I have hunted since I were a small lad, as my father did before me, and my sons will do after I am gone.

But this ship and the endless expanse of ocean holds nothing to hunt, and a man with no purpose is a dangerous thing indeed.

* * *

July 31st 1626

There is a girl travelling alone and she is the object of much speculation.

The wife of a minister has taken her somewhat under her wing, but she will not divulge how it is she came to be travelling to the new world without husband or chaperone.

She is a small girl, not well fed, but pretty with a ready smile.

I feel that the ministers wife has made quite the pet of her, her other children being all sons, and she is making much of fussing about her and giving her things to sew.

Sometimes she slips away from this mother hen and sneaks up on deck during the night.

I have seen her many nights since we started this journey, although she has not seen me. My father did train me well on that account.

But I can't help but find my mind wanders at the thought of her smile.

* * *

August 4th 1626

The girls name is Margret Tully and she was the daughter of a wheelwright in Devon.

I know all this because last night I did make my presence on deck known and engage her in conversation.

She is more comely than I thought, not just in her looks but her mind.

As a hunter I rarely spend time talking to the fairer sex.

God understands that I have seen my fair share of wenches to my bed, but my life is not one where time for talk comes easily.

This is, perhaps, the longest I have not had to hunt and the first time I have talked at length with so intelligent a girl.

We talked into the night about stars and the ocean, her hopes for the future in the new world. She hopes to find work sewing, as she has a skilled hand, but knows it will be hard on her own.

The ministers wife has assured her she can stay with them, but Margrets tone implied that this was not what she left England for.

Naturally, I did not tell her much about myself.

Better for all involved to pretend the monsters do not exist.

* * *

August 7th 1626

I am not sure if I am ashamed or elated.

Last night, in the dark of the new moon, I did kiss Margret Tully.

I feel as though my heart is at once shattered into pieces and swollen with love.

How would I behave?

I would have her as my wife if she would have me, but there is no father to ask her hand, nor uncle or brother, and I fear the ministers wife would cause sorrow for us as she coverts the girl as a daughter.

There is a hardness in the wifes eyes though, and I wonder if daughter might just be another way of saying servant.

I will pray perhaps, and see if God will show me the path to take.

* * *

August 12th 1626

They say that God works in mysterious ways, and none more mysterious than what came to pass two days ago.

I waited at our usual spot on deck and Margret did not come.

My heart was heavy at the thought that she may have been ashamed at the kiss we had shared, but just as I thought to leave and retire for the night, she came, holding in her hands my journal!

Her face was frightened and as I approached she took a step back, as though fearful of me.

"Is it true? Are you a witch finder?"

I saw at once why she was afraid.

She thought me to be one of thosee charlatans who wouldn't know what a hex bag was if you waved it in their face.

"No my love. Not a witch finder. I promise."

"Then what? All these drawings, and writings. I would know what it is you do."

And so I told her.

I told her of my life as a hunter and she listened with a great interest.

Finally, she did take my hand and place my journal in it.

"I know something of the darkness." She said.

* * *

August 20th 1626

Today I am married.

We asked the captain if he would marry us and he agreed.

He also did talk at length with the minister and his wife and they agreed that I was an upright seeming fellow and that the girls future would be more certain with a husband in the new world.

The hunt for the correct things for a wedding sent the ship into somewhat of a good natured frenzy, there being nothing on this vast ocean to entertain us.

In due course a veil was made and I dug into my small purse and paid the cook for his own ring to use as a wedding band.

Our wedding was quick, it being held on deck in the noonday sun, and after, much merriment was had as the Captain allowed a little of the rations to be used as a celebratory meal.

And now I lay next to my wife.

My wife.

Writing by lamplight.

There is little privacy on this ship, there being but a thin blanket between us and the next person. But there will be time enough on shore for intimacy.

I am happy to have her by my side.

* * *

15th September 1626

Land has been spotted.

I am at once delighted and afraid.

These past weeks I have lived a sheltered, if dull life, but now I must return to the hunt.

Only this time I have a wife at my side.

A thousand worries race through my mind and I can only hope that I was not selfish in marrying her.

* * *

1st November 1626

My brother is dead.

We did travel from the port at Massachusetts, west, heading for the settlement my brother told me of, but on arriving I was told he had been gone since April, and having left all his belongings, did not seem likely to return.

The minister of this place did give me a parcel of his personal things and told me, with a steely eye, that his own journal was in there as well.

I would not have stayed long in this place, but Margret was much fatigued from the journey and begged we rest for a day or two.

A small cabin has been lent to us. It used to belong to a sheep farmer, but he has built his house now and had no use for it.

Many houses are being built to replace the crude cabins hastily put up when they first settled, but this cabin is fair enough for us.

* * *

2nd November 1626

Margret is with child.

I should be happy.

The future is too uncertain though.

My brothers journal is worrisome to read.

I fear that the monsters we had known in England are but a fraction of what awaits in the forests of the new world.

* * *

9th November 1626

The snow has come.

And such snow as I have never seen.

We will stay, it being too dangerous to go back to the port.

There is work to be had as these are a prosperous folk and there is a physician here.

Margaret is pleased that we will stay.

The baby should come in late spring and I am thankful. A baby born in such a harsh a winter as I fear we may have, would not thrive.

The sheep farmer traded with some of the native people who came to our settlement today.

They are a sight to behold, even one such as I who have seen many things was taken aback at their dress and manner, but I am assured that they are friendly enough and one or two are even learning a little of the English tongue, the better to trade.

I was much taken with the small boy who rode upon his fathers shoulders, the snow being too deep for him.

Such solemn knowing eyes I have not seen, but the fellow did smile for me when I handed him a little of the dried fruit I had in my pocket, and something inside me was very glad that in the spring I should be a father.

* * *

31st December 1626

There is little to do during these long dark nights but talk.

And I am grateful everyday for my Margret, who's mind is as sharp and witty as anyone's I've met.

Today though, she did confess to me some of her past which she had been afraid to share.

Her family where all dead, from a fever.

Because she had not succumbed to the fever, her village had declared her to be a witch, and so, she had stolen away with all the money and possessions she could carry and ran away to Plymouth.

"My love. Would it Vex you to know that I know a little of the craft?"

These words she had spoken in the dark, as darkness makes all men's tongues looser.

"My mother and grandmother knew of it. Most women in my village had a little herbal knowledge."

"The knowing of herbs is not witchcraft pet."

She was silent for a long time and I thought her sleeping.

"I know more than the mixing of herbs."

My hand did rest on her stomach, as though reassuring the child within.

"You did kill the witch. In your journal, it said…."

"Yes. I killed the witch. But she was dark, she had killed children."

"Would you kill me love?"

"Nay pet."

And I did hold her for a long time and I knew it to be true.

I could never lift a hand to her.

* * *

9th February 1627

I was called to the ministers house last night and told of a troubling thing he had witnessed.

A family was taken ill one by one and he was afraid that it was a vampyre, a daughter from the family having been attacked by an animal some time before had vanished into the woods and a frightened servant of his had claimed she had seen the girl returning to her house and leaving before sun up.

Barefoot in the snow, her night dress bloody.

Before attending the house in question I returned to my own cabin.

I made sure Margret would salt the threshold once I had left and handed her a flask of holy water.

She only nodded and I knew it was only one of the reasons I love her so.

How many women would have begged me to stay?

I arrived at the house to find the family all taken to their beds, their throats marked by the beast, but, as yet, none turned.

I salted everywhere but the doorway, leaving the vampyre no escape route once she would enter, then hid behind the door.

I will be honest and say I was giddy at the prospect of a hunt, having not had chance to hunt since I left England, and when she crossed the threshold, it was hard for me to stay still long enough to let her truly enter.

As I shut the door the beast did turn at me, hissing like a cat, her fangs extended, she rushed at me but I swung my cleaver and decapitated her quickly.

The minister helped me remove her body and I covered her in salt and burned her in the grave we had dug in the frozen ground.

"It is well and good that the child is now in the earth." The minister said when we had finished. "But we should probably ask ourselves, where is the beast that turned her?"

* * *

11th April 1627

It is a year since my brother vanished, and if he is still of this world it is hard to imagine he survived the winter.

Margret is now very big with child.

The baby seems robust, it wanting to kick it's way out I feel! But Margret has a very pleasing glow to her cheeks and with spring well and truly here, it's hard to be anything but happy.

I have spent much time conversing with one of the native men.

He calls himself Sahkonteic which means White eagle.

His English is very good and he is teaching me, with great patience, some of the words of the Wampanoag people.

I feel I know him well enough to tell him of my past and even showed him my brothers journal.

He pointed to a drawing of a tall skinny man and told me it was a Wendigo. A monster that used to be a man until feasting on the flesh of his fellows and turning into the beast.

Truly there are many monsters to learn of in this new country, but the native tribes seem more aware than the English do.

When my Brother left England, it was to find a place with no monsters. He was tired of his life and wanted no more to do with it.

I am grieved that he could not have his wish.

* * *

21st May 1627

My daughter is born.

Margret had a fair labour, with two women in attendance.

White Eagle stayed outside with me, him becoming a firm friend here. From time to time he sang quietly to himself and I found it a comfort.

She is a fine healthy child, with strong lungs and a dark crop of hair like her mothers.

When all I've known is blood and death, to look down on her face, to place my finger in her tiny grasping hand, it's nothing less than a miracle.

We have named her Margret, for her mother, but we shall call her Meg.


	2. August 1627 - May 1628

3rd August 1627

These are the quiet days before the harvest time.

The last of the hay has been cut and stacked and every house and cabin boasts a garden of plenty, though I say with no little measure of pride, that ours is the most bountiful, Margret being very skilled with plants.

This new world surely is a land of riches, and I fear not that we will have food enough to make it through the harshness of winter.

Meg is growing bonnier by the day and smiles readily.

It gladdens my heart to come home and find my good wife tending our garden in the sun, while Meg sleeps under the shade that she has made for our baby.

I cannot with all honesty say I remember my father taking much interest in myself and my brother, but I find I am eager to return home each day and look down upon her sleeping face or dandle her on my knee to make her smile.

It is hard to think of hunting when life is being so kind, and aside from the vampyr, there has been nothing to alarm me since.

Is it too much to pray that this is all there is to be watchful for?

* * *

10th October 1627.

The last of our harvests have come in, and those with livestock have brought them to the small pastures around our settlement.

White Eagle joins us often now that the days shorten and the most to be done is tend animals and chop fire wood.

He brings today though, most disturbing news.

A wendigo has been seen in the north of the forest, moving steadily towards us.

"It is looking for new hunting grounds." He told me, with such certainty that it made my heart freeze with fear.

From my brothers journal and the stories I have heard from White Eagle and his people, this beast is not only bloodthirsty and indiscriminate, but also cunning.

"It took three good hunters."

The Wampanoag hunters are fierce and clever, and I would feel safe with any of them by my side, so to think it has already killed three men is troubling.

I will go with White Eagle.

* * *

16th October 1627

We have camped for the night and I have found the time to update my journal.

I left Margret and Meg in the care of the minister while I am gone, he being understanding to the ways of hunters.

Only White Eagle and I are tracking the beast.

More men would only attract it before we are ready, although I fear that time is past.

A good fire has been built, as it is the only thing it truly fears, and I have salted around our camp.

In my heart I am fearful, but I am unsure whether to pray to God or to the spirits White Eagle prays to.

Perhaps I will do both.

* * *

16th October cont….

There is much noise outside our camp.

I thought I could hear Margret calling me, then a baby crying.

White Eagle gripped me though and told me it was nothing but vile tricks, the beasts way of trying to lure me out of the camp.

I can hear it chattering in the tress now, talking in the Wampanoag tongue.

I fear I must stay at White Eagles side lest he step outside the salt ring.

* * *

18th October 1627

I write this with a still shaking hand.

The beast is dead.

But what rage and such a fight it put up it would put a demon to shame.

When dawn broke the beast did leave us, although White Eagle said it would still be abroad, watching us.

Usually it is customary to find a wendigo's lair and slay it, but this beast had no lair, having left it's own.

I asked why it had left, but my friend had no answer, only that many beasts had changed their habits since white men had arrived in large numbers.

This is disturbing news indeed, as how can one hunt when the beasts change the rules.

Luckily White Eagle is wise in the ways of the wendigo and this is not the first he has hunted.

Over the fire he melted down animal fats, mixing them with dry grasses, then placed it in a pot, which he then put inside another that he first lined with hot embers from the fire, to keep the fat as liquid.

I was to stand in the forest and lure the beast to me, a plan which did not sit comfortably with me, but I trusted my friend to do what he saw fit.

As it came for me White Eagle hid in the uppermost branches above me and when he did see the beast nearly upon me he tipped the fat so that it covered the top most part of the wendigo and I then thrust my torch at him, setting him ablaze.

Such noise it did make, like the screaming of damned souls, as it must surely be itself.

The fire quickly took hold of the beast on account of the fat mixture and he was only able to run a little way before falling to the floor.

Afterwards White Eagle cut off its hand to take back to his people as assurance that it was indeed dead. He dipped his fingers in it's blood and marked me on my face.

"We are kin now. You are my brother, hunter."

We burned the rest of the body before setting up camp.

Tomorrow I depart for home.

* * *

18th December 1627

Margret is with child.

Perhaps we will have a son this time.

She is most unwell though and I am worried enough that I shall call the physician to us tomorrow if this snow storm lets up.

My wife assures me she is well, and only tired, so I did take care of Meg to let her rest, only returning her to nurse a little, although the child is only taking a little for comfort I think, as she eats heartily now and is quite plump and well fed on the stews and winter vegetables we have put aside.

* * *

22nd December 1627

The storm still rages and my wife still sleeps fitfully.

I am not a praying man, but I shall ask God for mercy.

I will ask him not to take Margret.

* * *

28th December 1627

Margrets malaise passed with the storm and she is her usual good humoured self again.

I don't know if it was prayer that worked or just that the fever passed, I only know that she is in my arms again.

* * *

14th March 1628

Meg took her first steps today, towards White Eagle who crouched in the meadow and opened his arms to her.

Sometimes, when the weather is clement, he will bring his own child, his son, Black Wing. The boy is nearing four summers old and is fascinated with Meg.

He lets her pull herself up using his clothes, to stand unsteadily, and carefully holds her hands while she smiles at how clever she is.

The boy also likes to watch the settlers working and even has a few English words already.

As I watch my daughter grow and my wifes belly swell once more in the face of a new spring I know that I am blessed.

* * *

1st May 1628

Margret is labouring.

There is a great fear that it is too early.

I have put Meg in the care of the minister but there is little I can do but pace until I can find no peace and have sat to write instead.

I put down my pen.

I will drop to my knees.

And if God is as just as they say, then the new day will give me my wife in health and a healthy baby to show for her pains.

* * *

3rd May 1628.

She still labours.

I'm impotent in my inability to help her.

* * *

5th May 1628

Margret is dead.

I did cause shock by insisting I cremate my wife and unborn child rather than have them buried in the graveyard, but I want peace of mind that she can not return.

She is in heaven now. I would not have her body taken.

In the morning I leave.

There is nothing for me here.


	3. May 1628- March 1633

8th May 1628

I am with the Wampanoag.

White Eagle has taken me in as a brother, and his wife has taken charge of Meg, who cries most pityingly for her mother.

He asked me what I want to do, and all I could answer was, _"Hunt."_

* * *

-undated-

The winter brings the monsters out.

God damn them all.

Vampyrs did take three children before the last moon, but a storm has raged and we were unable to track.

Tomorrow we hunt.

* * *

-undated-

Every time I kill I mark my left arm.

A blade run across it deep enough to scar.

I wonder when I will need to start on my right?

* * *

-undated-

_(page lightly blood splattered) _

There are not enough monsters and devils here to quench my thirst.

I long for the days of my youth when my brother and I would dispel some village of a nest, or bring down a pack of werewolves, but these beasts are at once more primitive, all humanity knocked from them, and more cunning.

I will hunt.

It is all I have.

* * *

-undated-

I am weeping as I write these words.

For truly I have been lost.

I know not how long I have been here, only that winter has bitten me three times hence.

Meg came to me today.

I am sorrowful that I have paid her little attention, knowing that she be well cared for, but I have not been a father to her.

She came to me holding a handful of dirt.

"Nohsh, see!"

Meg does call me father with the native tongue and I do not correct her.

I look down at the dirt in her hands and was shocked to see movement.

Thinking some small snake or insect might be inside, I went to knock it from her hands, but she shook her head. "Watch."

As I did, green shots began to sprout from the earth and grow until there was a small plant sat atop the dirt.

"How did you do that child?"

Meg smiled at me most beauteously and said.

"Mama showed me."

"White Eagles wife?"

She shook her head most determinedly. "No. My real mama. She showed me lots of things."

I did scold her sternly for lying but she wept and told me she was not. Her Mother had come to her in the night and shown her how to open a door on magic.

I took my child by her shoulders and did shake her, making her promise never to do that again and never to show anyone.

She sobbed at my anger, but agreed.

Perhaps I am still fearful that witch finders are abroad, that if one were to hear of Meg doing such a thing, they would surely punish her.

I am writing this through tears.

Tonight I will burn the lock of hair I kept.

I will be sure that Margret will not visit her child anymore.

* * *

Summer.

The sun has mellowed my spirit somewhat.

White Eagle said that maybe I have quashed the black wolf in my chest and can now find my way again.

Perhaps he is right.

I look down on the scars that line both my arms ,and can hardly remember how I did make them or what they are for.

Meg is playing with the children in a creek.

From here she looks Wampanoag born, with her long dark hair braided and her skin browned by the sun.

Black feather is teaching her to shoot with a bow, and though she be but 5 summers, she is showing a talent for it, having already brought home a brace of rabbits from a hunt with him.

I suspect he helped a great deal, but he is a kind and patient boy.

I wonder what they would have said of my daughter in England.

Would she have been made to act as a lady?

Even here she pushes the boundaries between the sexes, although Wampanoag women afford more freedom than any I've known, even being able to own property, but she wants only to play at hunting with the boys.

Perhaps it is in her blood.

* * *

-undated-

Meg has asked to live in my shelter with me, rather than stay with White Eagles children.

I did set up a bed roll for her but instead she came into my bed and slept in my arms.

My chest was heavy with love and sorrow and I wish I could take back the last few years, but Meg is every inch her Mothers child, and holds nothing against me for my neglect, wanting only to be family again.

* * *

1st March 1633

My hand still shakes as I write this.

My brother, David, is alive!

He arrived yesterday, to trade, unaware that I was here.

I had thought him dead all these years!

We fell into each others arms and did weep with joy to the amusement of his travelling companion.

His companion did draw many curious stares, he being very tall with pale yellow hair such as a Dane would have.

He told me that he'd left the settlement to hunt vampyre, but had been badly injured and found by his companion, Marcus Campbell, who did bring him to his cabin and help him regain his strength.

It was many months before he was able to move about on his own again and in this time, they had been joined by other hunters.

We are leaving with them to join this group.

Meg and I will bid the Wampanoag goodbye and settle with our own people again.

* * *

3rd March 1633

Meg did crawl into my bedroll in the night and confess her worry to me.

A hundred questions.

_Will I go with you?_

_Will I have to wear a dress?_

_Will I still be allowed to hunt?_

_Will I be with you always?_

She is not afraid to leave our Wampanoag family, but she is adamant that she des not wish to be like the English women she has seen a picture of in my bags.

She does not wish to wear foolish clothes and be punished for getting dirty.

I kissed her head and smiled

"Nay child. You are mine own, and you shall be your own. We're family and you shall hunt if you wish it."

* * *

4th March 1633

White Eagle gave me a gift of two ponies and I did give him my knife from England and a good pistol.

We embraced as brothers and I shall be sorrowful to leave, but my kin have called on me to join them in the west.

A new chapter of our lives must unfold.


	4. March 1633- August 1633

16th March 1633

Marcus Campbell has made us most welcome at his compound, there being several other hunters living here.

From time to time wives will visit from the settlement of Charity, some miles away.

David has said that Meg should be sent to live with the other women, but for now I am content to let her stay.

The compound is made up of several cabins, a large barn and corrals for the horses.

The woods rise up to meet the edge of the land, but we are vigilant, there being several places for men to keep watch, and two men are on sentry duty at all times.

* * *

4th August 1633

There is talk of werewolves in the south.

Travellers are telling of livestock being killed, which was thought to be normal wolves, there being many here. Now though, a whole family has been found slaughtered, their throats ripped out, hearts missing.

I shall ride with David, Marcus and a new hunter. A Frenchman by the name of Fitzgerald.

On the way, I shall put Meg into the care of Marcus's wife.

* * *

15th August 1633

We arrived at the farm to be told we were misinformed.

Marcus is most vexed, but as usual only glowers to himself, a most stoic Dane.

Fitzgerald suggested we should rest in this settlement for a day or two, there being a tavern, this not being a Puritan place, and as the journey here has been long and tedious, not a man among us disagrees.

-later-

Something is badly amiss here.

The towns people seemed most welcoming, the lawman of this place inviting us to dine with him.

He was at a loss to explain how news of the attacks came to our ears, and laughed most heartily when Fitzgerald mentioned werewolves, saying they were only "beasts in childrens tales" and not something grown men should talk of.

The wine did flow very freely, but something in the manner of his servant made me temper my gluttony.

From time to time she caught my eye and I did fancy I saw no small measure of fear there, and a tremble to her hand as she poured drinks, so when she left the room, I made my excuses to retire for the night.

It didn't take me long to find her, the house, although ample, by no means huge. She resided in the kitchen and was most alarmed to find me there.

"You are the servant in this house?"

"I am sir."

"And you have served your master a long time?"

She did lower her gaze and nod her head. "I travelled with the master and his wife nearly ten years past sir."

I judged that she must have been a child at this time, her being no more than twenty or so, although, many households in England have children in service, there are fewer here.

"Tell me child. Is your master well?"

"He is sir. Very much so."

She looked at me then, meeting my gaze and holding it in a most presumptuous manner for a servant.

I asked her name, and she gave it as Ruth, her not knowing her surname, and I did ask her if she had heard of the killings in this area.

At my insistence she admitted that she had. That there had been more than the farming family, and that she was very afraid that some of the towns people were in fact, the beasts themselves.

I gave her my thanks and did retire to my room to await my companions.

* * *

16th August 1633

The hunt is on.

We have spent the day preparing.

I have my silver knife and Fitzgerald is keen to try out his pistol, having had silver shot made for it.

Campbell is much scornful of the use of pistols. He thinks they are well and good for the killing of men, but a pistol or musket is too cumbersome for the killing of devils.

We shall see.

* * *

-later-

The moon is most ripe in the sky.

If there is hunting to do, it will be tonight.

* * *

18th August 1633

Such terrors we did endure.

We were right to expect a hunt, for it was not long after moon rise that we heard the screams.

It was with much haste that we made our way towards the source of the commotion and did find Ruth cowering against the mantle.

"He has turned sir!" She said tremulously before holding her aprons to her face in fear.

There was much noise coming from the animal pens, and David motioned for Myself and Fitzgerald to move around the side of the barns, while he and Campbell went inside.

A great scream came from the barn and the door at the back was flung open, a shape hurtling from the darkness.

It did knock me to the ground in it's hurry to escape, but Fitzgerald stood fast and aimed with his pistol, hitting his mark well and felling the beast.

What elation he had though soon vanished when faced with a very ordinary looking wolf, breathing it's last before us.

David confirmed that the scream had been a goat, it's throat torn out by the animal.

Fitzgerald was most distressed to learn that he had wasted a silver shot on a common wolf.

Campbell hushed him though, reminding us all that the girl had said her master had turned, and that he must still be out there.

The wolf in the pen had only been a diversion away from the hunt.

It was then that I noticed we were not alone.

Many dark shapes were moving stealthily towards us in the shadows.

We backed up against the barn as they grew bolder, and as the moonlight made them visible to us, we counted seven of the beasts before us.

"I had thought to hunt longer." Fitzgerald mumbled under his breath, but I could not answer, my head being full of Meg. How she would grow up without not only her mother, but also her father.

The servant, Ruth, walked through the beasts to stand before us.

"You would have done well to leave when you were told the stories that had reached your ears were false, brave hunters." She smiled, only a hint of the beast below her.

Campbell demanded that she inform us on how she was not changed like the others and she only laughed and told us that the old beasts of the world were able to change at will, that the years tempered the bloodlust enough for composure.

One of the werewolves flew towards us and Campbell ran headlong into it, letting it get above him before hitting his knife home under its ribs.

David shouted as Fitzgerald, but he was already moving towards Ruth, his pistol raised.

The rest of the beasts were upon us and I feared that a fate worse than death could await any of us if action were not taken swiftly.

The pistol fired and hit true, blood blooming from Ruths midsection, her eye's uncomprehending.

Perhaps she had never seen a pistol before, did not know that silver could be used that way.

As their mistress and maker fell. the last of the werewolves fled into the forests, but we had neither the strength of will to follow them.

Campbell let his grim nature slip a little as he stumbled over and clapped Fitzgerald on the back, praising him for his marksmanship, and later, I was glad to see the two of them in conversation, handing the pistol back and forth and talking of new ways to hunt.

The town is deserted now.

The inhabitants either dead or turned.

We shall ride in the morning though.

There is nothing left here for us to do.

* * *

28th August 1633

I was most surprised to find Meg at the compound on our return.

She was sat in the kitchen area with Callum Campbell, eating pot cooked beans and swinging her legs on the stool that was too high for her.

"She wouldn't stay in town." Was all he said, grimly, before pointing to a perfect scar of teeth marks on his forearm.

Meg confirmed that yes, she had bitten him.

She had stolen a pony and ridden back to the compound alone and when Callum had tried to take her back, she had fought and kicked and bitten so hard that he had let her be.

She was most intent on telling me how she had been practicing shooting arrows and how Callum had let her stay up on watch with him.

I could only wrap my arms around my little girl and laugh.

Maybe I have done wrong by her, not raising her to be gentle and demur.

Maybe she will never find a husband, but she will survive.

She is mine own little hunter.


	5. July 1637- February 1638

_- Note. Many pages seem to be missing, torn roughly from the journal. There is a four year gap unaccounted for -_

* * *

July 3rd 1637

Sometimes I watch Meg and wonder if I have done right by her.

There is hardly a day that passes that someone doesn't suggest I send her away. There is no shortage of money between us, and it was even suggested that I send her back to England to live with Marcus's kin, but I have yet to waver.

Although I think, sometimes, I am selfish in my actions, for she is a most unusual child. Obedient to me in everyway a father could hope, but there is a wildness about her.

The years living with White Eagle have created a curious hybrid of English and native and the men here are at a loss as to how to treat her.

Fitzgerald has his son with us now.

The lad is clever and talented, but even so, at four years older than Meg, he is no match for her skill with a bow or knife, can not conceal himself as well, nor is he so diligent with his books.

If she were my son, I know that I would be clapped most heartily on the back daily for her practices.

But as she is my daughter, there is often only awkward silences when she bests someone at shooting or such tasks.

My darling child.

I hope I have not ruined you.

* * *

10th August 1637

Marcus and Callum have returned from a settlement to the south.

There was much talk from there of strange happenings and deaths, but Marcus said they found nothing.

He is in the blackest of moods because of this, his horse coming back lame and no kill to show for it, and has retired from us for the evening.

Callum seems perplexed but in good spirits, offering up tales of their journey to make Meg smile and laugh. It seems that the stumble that lamed Marcus's horse also pitched him into a tangle of gorse, and it is hard not to smile along with the thought of our fearless leader in so compromising a position.

Meg is now sorrowful for the horse and asked my permission to nurse his ailment.

She has run to the barns to check her new charge while I finish my journal for the night.

I only hope the horse will be well soon. Good beasts are hard to come by in this country.

* * *

11th August 1637

I am at once swollen with pride and terrified at what could have been.

I did put down my journal last night and make preparations for my bed, and it was when I was ready to retire that I realised Meg had not yet returned to the cabin.

Truthfully, I was more annoyed than worried.

She has a soft spot for the beasts of this place and I am often having to coax her away from the dogs and horses, even the fowl we keep, and so, I expected nothing more than to find her fussing over Marcus's horse.

Instead I opened the door of the barn to find Meg stood over the body of a man, her clothes bloodied, a hunting knife in her grasp.

She looked up at me with a face pale as death itself, then ran into my arms sobbing.

The man Meg had killed was dressed in Callums clothes, but he was not Callum.

When asked to talk of it, Meg said when he had attacked her, his eye's had been animal like, and we realised then that he was a shifter, having killed our man and come back to the compound to kill hunters.

"It imagined it would start easy by killing the child among us." Marcus said quietly, later on.

He lay a hand on my shoulder and laughed hollowly. "Foolish creature. He should have known that the daughters of hunters are the most dangerous things on Gods good earth."

I was shocked by his words.

The first time he has acknowledged Meg in such a way.

David has ridden with Marcus to the settlement to see if they can find Callums body, and to make sure that no other shifter moves into the dead ones territory.

My Meg is quiet, but shows no upset other than what she showed me last night.

She is resolute and calm and I am a little afraid for her.

When I asked her to tell me all that happened, she simply shook her head and said "I am a hunter. I did what I must do."

She is so young.

But perhaps she has had childhood enough here.

Perhaps her hunting life is beginning.

* * *

9th February 1638

David say's my judgement is weak.

I stand by my decision though. Tomorrow we set out on a wendigo hunt, and Meg will ride with us.

Fitzgeralds boy is joining us and Meg was grievously put out by this, her being better at nearly every aspect of the fight than he is.

When Marcus stood us in front of the assembled men and reminded me that Meg was not only a child, but a girl, I did place my hand upon her head and say that yes, these were truth's.

But before all of that, she is a hunter.

Not a man could argue.

* * *

10th February 1638

We did ride at dawn and duly rode all day till the light was fading from the sky.

Meg rode the little paint that Marcus had lamed, he being too heavy for it's weakened leg, but the horse having no difficulty staying sound with the child on his back.

I heard not a sigh nor a whimper, or any protestation during our ride, it was arduous indeed, and I am most fatigued. But Meg did not complain once, although her face is drawn and she seemed to force herself to eat before falling into a deep slumber in her bedroll by the campfire.

There is much muttering that we will all have to look out for the child on the hunt, but I am confident that she can play her part and not draw anyone into danger.

Perhaps I should feel more concern, and though it is true that I love my little daughter very much, I know her, and I know that now she has tasted the hunt, she will not be content with practice alone.

* * *

20th February 1638

It is only now that I find I can put down the story of our hunt.

We are back on the compound, lighter by four men.

Reading back through my last entry I will say only that I was roused from sleep by a great commotion and screaming.

I leapt to my feet and only briefly noted that Megs bedroll was empty, before having to fight for my life.

The devil had joined us, I saw the boy dragged away by unseen hands, his screams cut off abruptly, shouts in the darkness, then, only blissful unconsciousness.

When I next opened my eyes I was hanging upside down next to Marcus and Fitzgeralds boy.

I managed to rouse him and asked him where the others where, but he could only stutter and sob, his eye's as wide and terror stricken as a cornered animal.

In the dim light I could see bodies, piled on the floor, along with bones from the creatures past hunts.

I momentarily wondered if Meg was in that pile, the bad light and the tangle of limbs making it impossible to see, but I pushed such thoughts from my mind, knowing that to dwell on them would be to die.

The twine that held me suspended was tight and unyielding.

To my right I could hear Marcus groaning, still dazed, to my left, Fitzgeralds boy, weeping.

A shadow moved in the entrance, long limbs pulling the creature towards us.

I hissed angrily at the boy to still his mouth, lest it aggravate the beast, and I saw him bit down hard on his lip and nod shakily.

It moved around us, chattering quietly, and it is hard to believe that this was once as human as I. How far from grace we mortals can fall.

The wendigo began to snuffle around Marcus's chest, as though trying to determine if his scent was pleasing enough to eat.

The boy wouldn't hold back a cry of horror and the beast turned to him, it's terrible eye's shining with gluttony and rage.

It swiftly moved towards him, licking it's lips greedily.

I could hear the boy sobbing, repeating the lords prayer under his breath, and I could do nothing to help, although I did fight against my bonds and try to call the beast to me, it seemed only interested in the boy now it had found it's meal.

It's grotesquely long fingers began to pull at the twine, but before it could release the boy, it turned it's head and grunted, stiffened it's stance as though hearing something.

I held my breath, hoping against hope that maybe David had escaped and was coming to our aid.

The beast crept away, hunched over its elongated limbs, growling quietly.

I saw my chance and tried to lift my upper body, feeling the muscles in my stomach ripping as I struggled to place a hand on my feet.

Before I got the chance though, I heard a great screaming and light flared up in the caves we were hung in.

I saw the beast aflame, and for a sickening moment I thought it would flail back into the cave with us and burn us up with it, but instead it crumpled to the ground, twitching.

I expected David to come through the entrance, but instead it was mine own daughter, her face covered in soot, her hands greasy.

"Is it dead?"

"It is." She answered, climbing up the boys shaking body, despite his protestations, and cutting him down so that he fell in a weeping heap on the floor.

I watched with awe as she took his chin in her tiny hand and looked into his face most sternly.

"You need to help me get the others down." She snapped her fingers in front of his face when he didn't respond. "I can not get Marcus down by myself and my father is injured, you must help me."

He nodded quickly and allowed her to help him up.

It was only now that I noticed the blood soaking through my clothing, a rude gash across my midsection, which was why, no doubt, I had been unable to pull myself up, and several more over my leg.

She came to me quickly and kissed my face.

I passed out then, not coming too until we were to be found around a fire, my wounds being tended, Marcus sat up, but grey faced, holding his head gingerly, having taken quite the blow to it.

While the boy cooked a little game, I asked Meg how she had escaped the wendigo and she confessed that she had crept away from camp while we were sleeping to check the horses, they having moved a little further out of the trees, and while she was there she heard the beast moving about the camp.

"He did not see me father. I remembered what Black wing taught me. How to be like a ghost to the beasts of the forests, how to vanish into the trees and move silently. The wendigo was not so very quiet as all that."

She then said she watched the attack and knew she would have no hope of helping during the mêlée, and instead, followed the beast to its lair and watched it prepare it's larder.

"I am sorry I could not save all of us." She said sorrowfully.

"If not for you little hunter, we would all be dead." Grunted Marcus.

David, Fitzgerald and two others are dead.

Slain by the beast.

My heart is heavy, but it is all the more heavy for the knowledge that my daughter blames herself.

She then told us that White Eagle had often told her the story of our own wendigo hunt, so she knew that fire was the way to kill it.

My clever child.

My darling one.

I wish with all my heart you did not have to hunt.

But it is of your blood and mine.


	6. April 1640

16th April 1640

The quietness of the last few months has been shattered.

There seems to be a growing demon presence.

Before, we would see maybe one demon every decade or so, but in the last month I have heard of six.

These are troubling times indeed.

* * *

26th April 1640.

In the basement we have a demon.

All the marks have been made to protect us from it, and it is now tied to a chair, unable to leave.

Marcus trapped him at a cross roads, the demon having made several deals with unwary settlers already, and much trouble was taken to bring him here, the chains and collar upon his person being engraved with sigils.

It watches us with a most annoying smirk on his face. He is unafraid of us and I am wary.

I did not wish to bring such a beast to our home, but Marcus insisted and it is his land so I can do nothing but stay watchful.

* * *

27th April 1640.

There is a fear in the camp, not of the demon, but of Meg.

Tonight I have kept her close, but eyes are upon her every move and she has stayed by my side, worried about her position in this household.

Last night we set to, exorcising the demon.

He sat quietly, watching us with intent, and laughed at our attempts to extract the names of the people he had cursed with his deal.

"Do your worst loves." He purred at us. I saw Marcus glance at me, and I knew he thought as I did. That we had bitten off more than we could ever hope to chew.

Shrugging, Marcus flipped through his bible and started the exorcism.

With a shake of his head, the demon twisted his fingers, the book flying from his hands.

It hit the opposite wall and burst into flames.

Laughing at our shocked expressions, the demon shrugged. "You got some sigils correct, but one or two are a lacking in potency."

His face froze though, and without warning, his eyes did flash a deep red and he jerked his head to the doorway with a hiss.

At first I did not notice what the matter was, but then I did hear a quiet chanting and saw the Meg was stood, half hidden from view.

"WHORE!" The demon bellowed and I had to stand fast lest I move forwards to strike him for his words.

Marcus strode across to her and pulled her towards us.

"Yes…. Bring the little whore in…" Drawled the demon. "You whelps were starting to bore me."

Ignoring him, Marcus shook Meg by the arm, demanding she tell him what she was doing.

She looked at me with frightened eyes, but I only nodded for her to proceed. This was not the time to act on a fathers instinct. Not with a demon around.

"The prayer." She whispered. "You lost your book so I started saying it."

Marcus turned to me with questioning eyes.

"She started it." The Demon said, cutting though our unspoken confusion. "She must finish it."

"How do you know it!" Marcus hissed, giving me the same venomous look as he gave Meg.

I was dumbstruck. I did not know it by heart and had only ever exorcised a demon with the incantation written down, but she had sounded flawless.

She shrank back from him and whispered one word.

_Mother._

Before I could respond, Marcus pushed her in front of the demon. "You heard what it said child. Now finish it."

The demon only regarded her with cold curiosity before smiling wolfishly at my child.

"Little whore. I know what you are….. Is she with us? Your mother?"

I went to move forwards but Marcus stayed me with a hand to my arm.

Meg looked back at me, terrified, but I only nodded for her to continue.

"She is, isn't she…" It continued. "I'll be sure to look her out for some personal treatment when I get back."

Meg ignored him and started to recite the exorcism.

"Do they know what you are? What you'll become?" It was talking frantically now, understanding that it's time here was short. "Do they know that one day, your path will lead you to me? That hunters, hundreds of years from now will do this to you?"

She faltered but then carried on.

"Look at your whore!" It shrieked, smoke spilling from it's mouth. "It's not the likes of me you should fear, hunters, it's the snake in your house!"

As she uttered the final words, it screamed, before slumping against it's bounds, the poor wretch it had possessed long dead.

For a moment there was no sound save the pounding of blood in my ears, then Marcus walked back towards the cellar steps, pausing to look at me before setting his face and leaving.

"Papa?"

I opened my arms and let her come to me.

My child.

My sweet angel.

I know not what the foul demon meant, or what it's words will mean to our lives here with the other hunters, I know only that I shall protect her with my last breath.


	7. September 1642- December 1642

September 3rd 1642

I was much gladdened today to find White Eagle on the compound.

His people have moved on from their original village as more and more settlers have taken to farming the land. When I commiserated he simply raised his hands and smiled.

"My people were nomadic once, we can be again."

His son, Black Wing, has grown into fine strong boy and I was touched to see how Meg and he remembered each other, even after so many years apart. She could still talk to him in his native tongue, although his English is even better than his fathers.

There was much muttering later, after they had left, from those who thought me unwise to let Meg and Black Wing hunt together that afternoon. They thought that a native man would not be able to control his urges and my daughter would be corrupted.

I told them that I trusted the boy implicitly.

Marcus only added that any man who tried to take what Meg did not want to give gladly, would be in more trouble than a cornered wendigo.

Their suspicion on my friends angers me.

No, it saddens me.

White Eagle is more Brother to me than any man here.

Meg reminds me more and more of her mother every day. Not only in looks and poise, but in her temperament, which back in the old world would have been a hindrance, if not a danger to her. Here though, she thrives as a knew her mother would have.

* * *

October 12th 1642

A growing nest has been found.

Old world and new world vampires are forming alliances and threatening some of the smaller settlements nearer the mountains. We will ride in the morning, before snow hampers our endeavour.

Meg will remain for this hunt.

I need someone here I can trust to keep our home safe.

* * *

October 28th 1642

The nest was not so large as we had been led to believe, and in fact we did clear it of only six vampires.

Marcus and two of the new hunters have stayed behind to clear up any stragglers, I return with the rest of the men home. I am happy to leave, the highness of this place means that snow is already a threat to our journey.

* * *

November 1st 1642

Meg informed me that there was a minor vampire incident at the compound. A lone vampire with no nest who thought the isolation meant the girl was easy prey.

I almost feel a little sympathy for the cursed creature.

The ashes from the pyre are already long cold, though I find it hard to believe that I can laugh about such things, that my daughter can dispose of a vampire in the same way a farmers wife would dispose of a barren hen.

* * *

November 13th 1642

Marcus has still not returned.

Storm clouds are gathering in the north.

* * *

November 20th 1642

Snow has settled on our compound like a death shroud.

Still no sign of Marcus, but the snow means I dare not leave for the settlement to find him. I can only wait.

* * *

November 30th 1642

Marcus has returned.

His horse died as they reached the main gate, sending him tumbling into the snow, the ground around him already blooming with his own blood.

He said the vampires set them up.

The nest was vast.

And they are coming for us.

* * *

[later]

Marcus is dead.

There are but few of us here and I can already see creatures waiting in the tree line for full dark.

So many of them.

I fear for us.

* * *

[later]

I am Margret Masters.

My father has handed me his journal for safe keeping and instructed that I should write this passage lest he can write no more himself.

The vampires have surrounded us.

We will take as many as we can.

I will die before I am turned.

I will die as Meg and not as a monster.

May god have pity on us.

* * *

[pages smudged and tattered, no date]

My father would be pained to see my handwriting, but my hands shake much with the cold.

Even here I can still smell the smoke from the compound burning.

I am the only one left.

They came in waves, dozens of them.

It is only that my father did push me into the rafters that I managed to hide and escape, although I sent my share to the place monsters go in the end.

I fled to the mountain and knew not what to do until I fell in the snow and looked up to see a murder of crows whirling above me.

I must find Black Wing.


End file.
